We just took care of each other's needs and tried not to think about familial ties. It seemed to work pretty well but in a way I guess Princess spoiled me for a "normal" relationship with other qualified females.Now I had the guilt of poking one of my other sisters not only in her regular channel but in her rear door as well just like some Don Juan looking for pussy. My intentions were pure, well, maybe not pure, in the sense that most people look at it, but I insist that I thought the female flesh writhing underneath me in the darkened room belong to Princess and we were just doing what comes naturally without any obligations.I looked at my other five sisters across the breakfast table and tried to figure out which one had tricked me into humping her so hard that I could still feel the burn in my thigh muscles. Princess seemed miffed that I was not paying full attention to her this morning but I was serious in wanting to solve this mystery and she was not in the picture for the. Standing in front of her, with his eyebrows quirked in obvious amusement, stood the bartender — the same one she had only moments ago refused to meet his eyes. ‘A bit stronger than you are used to?’ he asked smugly. Catching herself just short of rolling her eyes again, Marty lowered her head to look at her half empty glass and quietly said, ‘Ummm . . . yes. That’s what was wrong alright.’ It wasn’t that Marti was trying to be rude to the bartender. But the man was obviously trouble. Not only did he look like a Native American storybook character with his jet black hair and tan skin, but when you threw in the blue eyes and the body — well, he was more than Marti could stand to look at long. This whole scenario caught Marti by surprise. It wasn’t that she didn’t like men. She just didn’t have much experience with men. She had been far more focused on the thread quality for the socks that had always come first in her life. Men were too complicated. So Marti always assumed an air of.
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